


Canvas

by Eryn



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Temperature Play, Wax, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:50:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eryn/pseuds/Eryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He knows he's a fantastic lay with good looks and a dream catch for both men and women. But sometimes it's still him begging for attention, sending polite enquiries for a discreet appointment because Miss Adler ignore all the others he sends.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is no sex, and it's exclusively Tony's POV. No dialogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canvas

**Author's Note:**

> Fills a postage stamp for the kinks: bodies and body parts, wet messy dirty, termperature play, wildcard. The wildcard can be either the wax play (though that also fits the temperature play part), submission or objectification. Read it as you wish.

If there's one thing Tony Stark has never done its modesty. He know what he got. He's smart, very smart, good looking and the owner of a multi billion Dollar enterprise. It's even got his name on it. Tony Stark has no reason for modesty. He also has no reason for shame or bashfulness. He knows he's a fantastic lay with good looks and a dream catch for both men and women. But sometimes it's still him begging for attention, sending polite enquiries for a discreet appointment because Miss Adler ignore all the others he sends. The only exception to this is when he's particularly daring and angry. Then she’ll takes the time to write a stern reply, reminding him of his place in their world. And Tony will write her again, begging for forgiveness and an appointment.

Today is not one of those appointments. He just felt like indulging himself, taking a break from Tony Stark, billionaire, superhero and obnoxious flatmate. Here he’s just Tony, a visitor in Irene Adler's townhouse in London, on his knees in one of the play rooms, a rubber mat beneath his knees. He's bare chested with ropes around his wrists stretching his arms to the side. He hasn't asked for anything specific, just two hours of her time for him to let go. For her to play with him and let him unwind. It's not about him, he tells himself while his eyes follow her. Of course it's about him. He's paying well for these hours to be about him. But in his mind he tells himself its about her. She wants to play with him. She picked the position, the clothes, the kink, the name he'll use for her today, the name she'll call him, everything is this way because she willed it so. 

He watches her look through cabinets and drawers lazily, picking up this item and that before putting them down again. He knows it's deliberate. Drawing attention to her power. She could spend the two hours just contemplating what to do and Tony wouldn't call her on it. He’d kneel here and wait and show an amount of patience that would make Pepper envious.  
But finally Miss Adler seems to be done looking. She turns around with a serving tray in her hands. He can’t see what’s on it and she makes it a point to put it down out of his line of side. Tony makes it a point to keep his head forward and his breathing even. He barely flinches when something wet and gritty touches down between his shoulder blades. He doesn't know what it is, but it doesn't slide down even though his back is straight. There's also no water running down his back, so it has to be a compact paste. More of it is rubbed into his shoulders. He still can't see it, but it smells earthy and mossy and scratches him deliciously. 

It gets rubbed into his arms now, right down to the ropes around his wrists. He glances to the side to reveal that yes, Miss Adler seems to be rubbing mud all over his chest. It's gritty, wet and disgusting. But he doesn't fight it. If she wants to turn him into a mud monster he won't fight her. This is what she wants. She picked this for him. It's warm on his skin and it doesn't seem to dry. Miss Adler is in front of him now, rubbing the brown paste onto his chest but keeping clear of the Ark reactor. Tony knows it's water proof, but it's still good to know Miss Adler won't test this part of him. She seems more than content to cover him in mud paste down to the hem of the rubbery pants she put on him. Then she steps back and goes to wash her hands, leaving Tony to stew. The heat is rising now, warm dirt pulling sweat to his skin, but the heat just keeps sinking into his muscles, unwinding him and winding him up all the same. The stuff smells strongly of wet earth, but now that it’s on his chest, Tony also smells herbs, the soothing ones that Bruce keeps in his flat. They rise into his skull, tingling in the back of his throat but he can’t turn his face away. He knows his head is red by now and his heart is racing to keep up with his widened blood vessels all over his chest.

But before his body decides to go offline Miss Adler is back with a wet cloth and a basin of warm water. It's about the same temperature as the mud, but his skin is finally able to breath again and he can't help but close his eyes and sigh softly. This feels good. Tony does his best to stay still and let her rub the cloth over his back, prying off the sticks mud and turning the clean water into a brown herbal air refresher.  
And once everything is gone and he's nice and dried off Tony's almost ready to leave. He feels relieved and freed and like he just lost 20 pounds just by letting her give him a mud pack, because yes, he has recognised the skin care as was it is. But apparently Miss Adler has more in store for him today and they still have an hour to go.

Tony gasps in surprise as his whole body tenses, shoulder blades and shoulders and arms all the way down to his fingertips, when sensations spike at the centre of his back, trailing down his spine. He doesn't know if it was hot or cold or sharp, wax or ice or knife. His skin is damp and tingling and the sensation is gone already and he feels a trail of cold wetness run down his back. So ice. He gasps when the sliver touches down on his shoulders, first one and then the other, cooling the skin down from the pleasant warmth of before to well below room temperature. There are more touches of ice in quick succession. Shoulder blades, hairline, shoulder, armpit, inner elbow, pecs and finally the hollow of his throat. He's gasping and twisting in the bonds, trying to shy away while simultaneously trying to stay in place. Miss Adler wants this. She wants to play like this. Wants him to endure this. And she's smiling fondly down at his shivering form once she's done.  
He's trembling all over, rivulets of water running down his chest and his arms. He only realises that he's been keening softly when she places her fingers against his lips.

"hush boy", she whispers, "you're doing so well"

Tony presses his lips against the fingers in a chaste kiss, forcing down the discomfort and the cold. He stays like this, motionless and quiet until Miss Adler pulls her finger back again, ruffling his hair instead.  
The cold is subsiding now and all that's left is the sticky feeling of dried water. There's gooseflesh covering his arms and Miss Adler takes a moment to just pet it, running her perfectly smooth fingers over his arms, caressing short hair and trailing along faint scars. The trembling in his limbs subsides and his breathing calms. He's lost track of time already, but he doesn't care. Miss Adler will tell him when it's time to leave. Until then he'll let her do as she please. 

She's straightened again and apparently she's not interested in seeing him shiver any longed because he can hear a match being lit. He can already smell the sulphur and also vanilla, which means there's at least one scented candle on that tray. The idea of wax makes him shiver again, arms tensing in anticipation. He can hear Miss Adler chuckling behind him and her fingers tangle in his hair, scrapping his scalp and pulling short strands. It's a heavenly sensation. Miss Adler always knows where he need to be scratched and Tony is relaxing again, shoulders going slack, hands hanging limply in his bonds.  
And then there's heat and pressure on his shoulder and down his back. He can't help but shout and arch against Miss Adler's hold. But her fingers tighten in his hair and she won't let him flee. Instead more wax hits his other shoulder. Then both arms and his back. A symmetrical pattern of heat on cool skin. She lets go of his hair and Tony sags forward, breath fast and shallow. They're not done. He can hear one candle being placed down and another being picked up. 

The next layer lands partially on top of the first and partly next to it. Heat layering over heat, spreading it out from the first splatters like water wetting a surface. Tony is gasping and tense, but he doesn't shy away. This is what he wanted, what he asked for. Her playing with him. Using him as her canvas, her doll, her plaything. It doesn’t matter what he wants or should want. It doesn’t matter that back at home Pepper is likely raging about his sudden absence. It doesn’t matter that Dummy has likely set fire to the lab. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter.  
Tony keeps his breathing steady as the wax layers up on him, different levels of heat and pain blending together, tightening on his skin, stray drops falling to the rubber sheet beneath and sometimes he can feel the distant warmth of a drop landing on his calves.

It’s finalised by the click of a camera phone and he hums softly in the back of his throat when Miss Adler shows him the picture she took of him. His back covered in black and red and yellow wax, forming wings across his shoulders and shoulder blades, curling over his arms and trailing out into dot lines to his wrists. He wants to lean forward and kiss her. Any part of her. Her fingers or her thighs or maybe even her lips. But it’s not about him, so he just smiled and bows his head and murmurs “Thank you, madame”.  
She ruffles his hair affectionately again and Tony allows himself to lean into the touch, the little affirmative move that tells him he’s been good today.

Miss Adler leaves him again, tidying away the tray, letting the heat dissipate as the wax hardens further on his skin. It wasn’t hot enough to burn him but it was enough to chase away the chill. It’s forming a shell now, a protective measure on his back and shoulders, forcing him to hold the position if he doesn’t want to crack the picture. Tony doesn’t mind. He could hold this position for a while longer and before it can get uncomfortable Miss Adler is already back with a blunt knife to peel off the design. It’s breaking away quickly, cracking and crumbling down his back. He makes no move to help her, just lets her strip away the armour she put on him before soothing the red skin with warm water and then lotion. It smells good. Neutral with a hint of something that has Tony relaxing further.

He’s left to stew a bit more, the lotion sinking into his skin, soothing the little discomforts he’s sustained over the last two hours. Miss Adler is back in front of him, running her short painted nails through his hair, scratching his neck and behind his ears, allowing him to lean forward against her thigh while she leans over to undo the ties on his wrists. She guides him to his feet and Tony is grateful for her strong hands because his legs feel like rubber. Miss Adler doesn’t speak as she undoes his pants and pushes them to his ankles. She also doesn’t speak when she takes his wrists and guides him across the room. Tony doesn’t mind. He just listens to the sound of her heels clicking on hardwood as she lays him down on the bed and draws the covers around him.

“Sleep now, boy”, she tells him, her sweet dark voice close to his ear. Tony nods and murmurs “Yes, madame” before curling up underneath the heavy warm blanket. He can hear her heels on the hardwood again and he’s out like a light before she even reaches the door.


End file.
